Line of Fire
by abstractmouse
Summary: A young!Royai fic showcasing Roy's time as an apprentice under Master Hawkeye, extending through to the Ishval War. I started this as a fan comic on tumblr, but I can't draw so here's a written version. T for now, maybe M later
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 **CENTRAL CITY 1898**

 _CLAK_

The sharp sound of heels on pavement echoed against the brick walls of the back alleys in Central City's red light district, bouncing down corner after corner, but meeting no one.

 _CLAK, CLAK_

The light of the afternoon seemed to be enough to keep even the most unsavory men hidden away, but one old man walked briskly to his destination, his traveling cap concealing all but his whimsical mustache. Turning one final corner (although certainly there was a more straight-forward way to have gotten there), the man arrived at an ornate, wooden door, flanked on either side by signs declaring "Drink Specials!" and "Beautiful Ladies!"

Madame Christmas's bar was quite the spot at night, with drunken lechers and rich aristocrats alike drooling over Madame's buxom girls and the blare of trumpets from the live band innervating the mood. This, General Grumman discovered as he heaved open the heavy slab, was not so during the day. The sultry drawl of slow jazz scratched and cracked its way off of the old gramophone in the corner, amplified by the emptiness of the bar. As his aging eyes adjusted to the much dimmer lighting, however, he noticed an odd sight: A young boy sat hunched over an immense volume in a particularly dilapidated section of the bar beneath a grand, winding staircase. His eyes, although covered by his messy, black hair, reflected his deep concentration, brow furrowed, and a slightly discontented expression settled on his face.

The General parked himself a few seats down from the boy and adjusted the tails of his brown traveling coat over the edge of the stool, waiting for the bartender. He studied the stain of the bar top, which had worn off in long streaks from sliding heavy steins across to thirsty patrons. The building was in worse shape than he remembered.

Venturing a glance at his only companion and, frankly, bored from waiting, Grumman announced, "A bit young for a drinking habit, aren't we?"

The boy bolted upright, evidently unaware of the General's presence. His posture loosened upon surveying the older man. He smiled, embarrassed and a bit apologetic, and replied, "Madame lets me stay downstairs during the day when it's not so busy."

Grumman nodded and gestured curiously at the book the boy had been so absorbed in. "What have you got there?"

"I'm studying to become an alchemist!" he declared determinedly.

The General's benign curiosity turned to wariness. "What would you want to do something like that for?"

The young man flinched a bit at the General's tone but countered a little less confidently, "I-it's for the people…. If I were an alchemist, I could do some good. I could help fix up the bar, I could-"

"HA, HA, HA!" Grumman bellowed eccentrically with laughter, impressed by the youth's naivety. He removed his thick, round glasses and rubbed away the small prick of liquid at the corners of his crinkled eyelids with the tips of his gloved fingers. "I see," he said, calming down. "And how is that coming along for you?"

"Not good…" he uttered with a sheepish exhale.

"Roy." A gravelly but still feminine voice came with a hefty woman who entered from behind a deep purple curtain separating the kitchen from the rest of the bar. Her lips moved around her long, thin cigarette as she said, "Time to go upstairs now."

The boy did as he was told without another word or goodbye to the General, tucking his heavy text underneath his arm and ascended the creaky staircase.

"Your boy?" asked Grumman as he watched him go.

Madame Christmas focused a bit harder on the glass she was polishing as she explained simply, "My brother and his wife died recently." Not one to linger, she continued quickly, "What'll it be today?"

Grumman was reminded that he in fact came for business. "The usual," he replied, slipping a small piece of paper face down across the bar to her, "but with a small _twist._ "

Christmas scanned the list, interpreting the code that was written there. When she understood, she looked at the General pointedly and said, "Maybe come back in a few days. It'll take some _shopping_ to find ingredients like these." She would have to send out one of her girls.

"Of course," Grumman said, steadying himself on the bar top as he stood to leave. He paused for a moment, though, remembering the dark haired child who, he could see, was still seated on the top step overlooking Roy's aunt and himself, immersed again in his book. "As for your boy…" Grumman rubbed his chin, pondering whether what he was about to do was a wise choice. "I know an alchemist who may be worth writing to."

Christmas smiled at the General's choice of payment. "You'll put in a good word for him?"

"Unfortunately, my word doesn't hold much sway with this man." He dug in his coat pocket, retrieving another slip of paper and a pen, and he began to write. "But he's poor, and I have a hunch that he may be willing to take on a student."

Again, he passed Madame Christmas the slip of paper, which read as follows:

Berthold Hawkeye  
611 Lagoon Rd.  
East New Optain, Amestris

* * *

A/N: So here's the prologue, again. Fortunately, I write much better and quicker than I draw, so the next chapter shouldn't take much longer. Apologies to anyone who was reading the comic on tumblr. I may still illustrate this at some point though.

Also, I encourage reviews of any kind! I love criticism, so don't be afraid to say anything.


	2. Ghost

**Chapter One: Ghost**

 **SUMMER 1899**

Young Roy Mustang was grateful to be off of that godforsaken train and finally in the town where his new alchemy teacher resided. His jelly legs carried him down the cobbled streets of East New Optain, a small town with only a few dozen buildings in all. Eventually, the directions of a few shopkeepers sent him toward perhaps one of the largest houses in town, isolated by a spacious lot of overgrown grass.

As Roy made his way up the path to the mansion, he noticed how unkempt the property was. Elegant Roman columns stood crumbling, and unmanicured shrubs crept their way past the vast windows lining the dusty exterior of the house. A dead potted plant greeted him at the set of double doors.

 _Is this even the right place?_ Roy wondered, checking the brass number plate beside the door, which read 611. _It doesn't look like anyone lives here._

The hollow thudding of his fist on the door reverberated through the concrete space around him as he waited nervously for an answer. Finally, the mahogany door dragged open, revealing a tall, sunken-faced man boring down at him with sharp, focused eyes. Roy gulped, intimidated, barely noticing the the shy girl peeking around the doorframe.

"You must be Roy," said the man.

 _You must be Master Hawkeye,_ Roy thought he said, gaping at the blond-haired man.

"Shut your mouth and close the door," said Hawkeye, proceeding into the foyer as Roy snapped his jaw shut.

The girl from a moment ago stood a small distance away, clutching the banister of the staircase that Master Hawkeye was leading him toward. Roy caught her guarded brown eyes, stepped eagerly ahead, and held his hand out as an introduction. But before he could even utter his name, his teacher had glided obliviously between the two, making his ascent up the stairs.

"You'll be spending the majority of your summer upstairs, so we'll start here," said Hawkeye, but Roy was barely listening as he glanced back down at the banister to give an apologetic shrug to the girl, only to discover that she had already gone.

"Your quarters will be down the hall on your left," Hawkeye gestured, standing at the top of the stairs. He continued walking without waiting for Roy to catch up, explaining each of the various doors, not looking anywhere but straight ahead.

Roy paused as they passed a room with the door ajar, noticing that Master Hawkeye offered no descriptor for it. Peering in, he could see a canopy bed outfitted with pink sheets and a desk stacked with books.

"And this room?" asked Roy, but Hawkeye ignored him, already several steps ahead.

Roy followed at a bit of a jog to catch up as they reached the end of the hall, which had two doors on either side of them.

"This is the library," said Hawkeye, indicating the one to the right. "You can study here. All of my books are available for you to read. And this is my study." He gripped the knob, prepared to enter the room. "If you need me, you may knock."

Just before his teacher disappeared inside, Roy spoke up, confused, "But… what am I-"

"I expect a ten page paper by the end of the week explaining in detail the workings and application of Paracelsus's Tria Prima theory. If you can't do that, then you might as well go back home." And the door clicked shut.

Roy stood, baffled.

Unable to do anything else, he gathered his suitcase and began the trek back to his room. _Ten pages,_ he thought. _He doesn't kid around._ He reached the door nearest the staircase when he heard the creaking of a rusty hinges from the way he came. He looked up, startled, but retreated into his bedroom when it became clear that no one was there. _I'd better unpack._

A few metres down the hall, the shy blonde girl sank against the door that was previously open for all to see, unnoticed.

* * *

A/N: I know it's short and not a lot is happening yet, but I think small bursts are going to be the best way to keep me motivated to write. Comments are greatly appreciated!


	3. Black Tongue

**Chapter Two: Black Tongue**

Riza Hawkeye rested her chin on her knees, contemplating what it meant that her father had taken on a pupil without so much as telling her. Nothing, she supposed. It was only typical.

She summoned the will to lift herself and moved to her desk, which currently looked like some kooky librarian's cave. She hoisted the pile containing _The Primes of Alchemy_ and dumped it on the ground forlornly. As she cleared off pages of poorly conceived notes, an intricate gold picture frame peeked out from behind the mess. Riza stopped for a moment, staring at the black and white scene before her. A beautiful woman and a cleaner looking Berthold Hawkeye sat smiling on a hill, while their tiny daughter pointed jubilantly toward the sky, distracted by the shower of fireworks cascading down the black canvas of night. She snapped the frame face down against her desk.

Her family was broken, and now that _Roy Mustang,_ she thought venomously, had come to learn all her father had to teach, there was no hope of rekindling any bond they had previously.

Bitterly, she decided, she needed tea.

* * *

"Aaand, there," said Roy, aligning the brush and ink portrait of his deceased parents impeccably against the otherwise blank wall.

He hadn't brought much, but the few accoutrements he did pack served well enough to brighten the drab room. He slapped his hands together with a satisfied grin, surveying his handiwork, when his eye caught the single volume Madame had bought for him lying on the desk. Roy frowned again, the reminder of his ten-page research paper as welcome as a bullet in the back. He would need more than _Deconstructing Symbols_ to even begin to understand Paracelsus.

Roy trudged his way around the halls, still learning the layout of the massive manor. When he finally stumbled into the library, he became both excited and scared. The library's endless shelves housed more books than trees did leaves; the dusty smell of paper and ink permeated the room. He didn't know where to start.

Upon perusing the shelves, Roy found that Master Hawkeye collected more than just alchemical texts. The first few aisles he meandered down featured a vast array of fiction, and more still revealed various historical and referential material.

 _Master Hawkeye could learn a thing or two from that Melvil Dewey guy,_ thought Roy, growing ever more frustrated at the lack of organization in the impressive collection. Although he had located the alchemy texts, he found that the volumes seemed to be arranged by publishing date ( _of all things!_ ) instead of by author or subject. To make matters worse, the section had been pecked full of holes by a little mouse hungry for information.

Roy grabbed a promising title and plopped down at a nearby table. The thick, wrinkled pages clung together as he lifted open the heavy cover, fragile and yellow. If the condition were not testament enough to its age, the language certainly was. Odd spellings and foreign syntax licked and spat at Roy, interrupted only by a few crudely drawn diagrams.

Roy leaned back, balancing the chair on its haunches. This was going to be a difficult summer.

* * *

Riza was silent as she slid through the cracked door of her father's study, her small hands gripping a metal serving tray in front of her. The ceramic cups clinked as she stopped, alerting Berthold to her mousy presence.

"I've brought you some tea, Father," Riza said timidly.

"You may leave it." He did not look up, scrawling page after page of notes.

She held the tray more tightly, attempting to gather some confidence. "Father," she began carefully, "why have you taken on a student now? You've denied much more qualified alchemists in the past."

"Don't worry yourself with such frivolous things, child," he dismissed.

Riza heard the finality in her father's rumbling voice, but she persisted. "If you need an apprentice, you can teach me."

He set his pen down and pinched between his eyes. "Riza, you know nothing of alchemy."

"That's not true! I took some books from the library. I-I've been studying," she implored, omitting the fact that she could hardly make heads or tails of what she read.

Berthold turned to look at his daughter, grey eyes cold and austere. "Then return them. Make sure you put them away properly." He turned back to his desk before adding, "And bring Roy some tea."

Riza set the tea tray down with a clatter, amber eyes quivering as she exited the study. _Bring Roy some tea._ She would do no such thing.

She marched from her bedroom to the library, arms piled haphazardly with as many of the borrowed books as she could carry. Loose bits of her cropped hair fell across her face, which shined with a thin layer of sweat. Balancing on one foot, she kicked open the cracked door and stopped in her tracks.

Peering over the tower in her hands, she saw Roy leaning backwards in his chair, head thrown back limply with an open book resting across his eyes and nose. A sliver of drool slithered from his parted lips, and the roar of his snoring served only to fuel Riza's rage.

She dumped the heap on the table, livid. The table groaned loudly under its weight. Roy gasped, jolting himself awake, and promptly plummeted onto his back.

"I guess you're Roy. I didn't think my father would bother to teach such a lazy little boy," she said derisively.

"Little boy?!" Roy squealed. He cleared his throat and faked a deeper tone. "I'm fourteen! That's practically a grown man. In fact," he said, picking himself up and wiping the dirt from his black slacks, "you ought to call me _Mister_ Mustang. Being your elder and all. And I'm not lazy, I'm just motivationally challenged."

It was clear by the friendly smile on his face that he was merely joking, but Riza, young and envious, did not welcome the banter.

"Good luck with those," she gestured toward the books she had just deposited in front of him before continuing indignantly, " _Mister Mustang._ "

Roy watched her whip out the door, baffled again by the strange Hawkeye family. He looked at the mess of volumes now littering his workspace and realized with a smile that she had delivered exactly what he needed. He sat back down and absorbed himself in _Sulfur, Salt, and Mercury._

* * *

A/N: Sorry this one took a little longer. I kept trying to write this chapter with Riza being nicer, but as I put myself in the shoes of a twelve year old in this situation, I couldn't see her being anything but emotional and angry. Tell me your thoughts!


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